


She Looks Like Teddy Perkins

by boo_cool_robot



Category: Atlanta (TV 2016), Community (TV)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Slice of Life, Surrealism, and by that I mean nothing happens in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boo_cool_robot/pseuds/boo_cool_robot
Summary: “Long-lost second cousin who got a million dollars from some crazy white dude? That’s some Nigerian prince scammer bullshit.”
Kudos: 5





	She Looks Like Teddy Perkins

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very brief glimpse into a world where Troy Barnes and Earn Marks are cousins. Perhaps to be continued, but I wanted to post this ficlet because there's so little Atlanta fic.

“Knew this shit sounded fake as hell.”

“Hey man, it’s Earn.”

The nature of narrative was to take one from a familiar situation to the unfamiliar. It was what the universe demanded. You tasted strangeness whether you wanted to or not, and then returned home, having become something else. Time was circles on circles: Everything that happens has already been determined to happen, every story a story that had already been told. 

“Long-lost second cousin who got a million dollars from some crazy white dude? That’s some Nigerian prince scammer bullshit.” 

“We’re on campus next to the, uh, giant hand statue.”

“Drove out to fucking Colorado and don’t even have any goddamn weed. A goddamn monkey with creepy people hands stole the goddamn weed out of my pockets. Looney Toons-ass bullshit.” 

“Just call me back, alright?” Earn’s face did its usual kicked puppy thing as he lowered his phone. The nature of desire was to cause suffering--that’s what the Buddhists and the Jedi Order always said. You wanted shit, and then shit grabbed you by the throat and threw you down the stairs. Wanting was the first step of the story, and the story always involved a price. Earn shuffled around everywhere in his sad scruffy hipster clothes like he still believed in linear time, like a stale breath clinging to the inside of a scarf. That shit was palpable.

He touched Earn’s elbow, which was sad and scaly. “Yo, you think that thing’s racist?”

“I never have any idea what you’re ever talking about, Darius.” Earn’s expression didn’t change.

“Earn, you hearin’ me? What the fuck, man?” Al grasped the inevitability of suffering, grasped it and pulled it in for a sucker punch while it was off balance. He had seen Al sweep a room into carrying him, playing the small resentments that everyone there had for each other like reaching his hand into a bag of rice and watching the grains reshuffle themselves around his fingers. They had gone to Wendy’s afterwards, and Al heard about how there was no such thing as time, only slices of matter that limited human perception failed to see were already held in a predetermined structure, and then he’d let him crash on the couch, and then that couch had become the new familiar place to return to. The beacon on the circle. 

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout that Slenderman mummy thing running around. Mascots like, as a cultural phenomenon, are usually racist as hell, but this thing’s vibes absolutely reek.” 

Across the lawn, some white chick started chanting about the machine of false consciousness. As she turned in a stilted march, the pale planes of her cheeks and thin blade of her nose lanced terror through his heart. He saw a few dusty pastel piano keys in dim yellow light. 

Darius’s nose began to bleed in the thin air. 

**Author's Note:**

> Darius is talking about Dan Harmon's story circle theory. He and Britta will definitely make out before they leave Greendale.


End file.
